Four Seasons
by Appuru
Summary: We each have lives that belong together, a family, and lives that belong to only us. Fluff.


**Title:** Four Seasons  
**Characters/Pairing:** everyone in the host club.  
**Genre:** Fluff/Gen  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** none  
**Word Count:** 952  
**Summary:** A YAYEVERYBODYISAWESOME sort of thing. Slice-of-lifeish type drabbles for all the Host club members. NO MORE OURANGST PLZ.

* * *

The twins take to wandering around in the commoner neighborhoods in the summer, half for hoping that they'll "accidentally" bump into Haruhi, half because they're just so bored and loitering in the rich, stately parts of town is no fun at all. They end up at a park, just too lazy to terrorize the convenience store clerks or explore the commoner's strip malls today.

Hikaru buys a double-stick popsicle from a nearby vendor and they sit on a bench, taking turns licking at the frosty sweetness. It takes longer to finish and the stickiness clings to their fingers all afternoon, but Hikaru dislikes the alternative, how the popsicles don't break cleanly, how you'd end up with two popsicle-sticks and a jagged edge, with most of the ice on one and a lot less on the other.

His brother teases him about the uncharacteristic display of neatness in the gesture. Hikaru gets revenge by taking a big bite of Kaoru's side of the popsicles, blowing an icy, affectionate kiss on the back of Kaoru's neck and making him yelp.

Kaoru gets the last laugh, of course, when Hikaru brainfreezes a second later. Somehow, they always come out even.

* * *

On snowy winter days, when Tamaki is in a (relatively) quiet mood, he talks about France. His knee bumps Kyouya's under the kotatsu set up in Kyouya's room when he gestures, and the way he laughs is a little quieter, milder than normal. Kyouya peels the mandarin oranges and makes the appropriate comments and nudges the conversation in the right places and thinks, off-handedly, that he likes the way winter sunlight diffuses through snow and glass and dusts Tamaki's profile, light and lazy.

When he's more energetic, Tamaki talks with his mouth full of tea snacks, sprays cookie crumbs everywhere ("If you don't stop that, you're going to clean up by licking off the crumbs off the floor, Tamaki." "Waaa, Kyouya, how can you be so harsh?!"), rants about the next day's theme, the costumes he wants to wear, and quizzes Kyouya relentlessly about Japanese culture. If Kyouya is less cooperative then usual, Tamaki justs laughs or whines, cupping his hands over his hot tea until the steam condenses and traces the same ridiculous little glasses-wearing stick-figure with his wet fingers on the tabletop.

Kyouya's long given up on scolding him about how he'll stain the wood, if he keeps doing that; he could just as easily replace it, anyway. He doesn't.

* * *

The girls they're entertaining today ask Honey, shyly, does he know about floriography?

It is spring and Honey is full of flowers, but he tilts his head and fakes not knowing, so that one girl swoons over his adorably confused expression and the other trips over herself to explain. Acacias for friendship, orange blossoms for your pure loveliness. Roses--the customer says, blushing madly and shooting a side-glance at Mori--for love.

Honey spends the rest of the session entertaining the ladies by trying hold a conversation using only the names of flowers. When they ask, he says his favorite flowers are the sugar-spun blossoms atop his favorite cakes, of course! His real favorites are the lily-of-the-valleys that bloom in May, the same time as Takashi's birthday, the same sign of happiness to him.

"Mitsukuni." It's after hours now, and Honey beams over his shoulder at the light touch between his shoulder blades. Takashi has never needed a language to radiate strength, a quality Honey respects as a martial artist and adores as a friend.

The whoosh of Honey's breath through his hair, once he's settled on his back, means_ let's go home, Takashi. _They speak primarily for the benefit of the ladies and sometimes, the other hosts; they don't need anything else to understand each other. They are silent and complete.

* * *

Haruhi likes walking home from school, when the skies are red, dusky and sweet with autumn. After a long two hours of hosting, the relative quiet is very welcome; in the stillness she thinks ahead, planning out the rest of her day.

When she gets home, she'll change out of the too-expensive uniform and start on her homework right away--conversational French and Japanese history first--then take a break to prepare dinner. Put aside a portion for Tamaki, who has been nagging her about eating her homecooking again all week. Clean the kitchen, wash the dishes and re-fold the laundry after Ranka's enthusiastic attempts to "help." Make sure the bills and the rent have been paid.

If she's a little tired, she'll call the twins over the formula or english lit she's not sure she's getting. When she finally convinces them to stop calling back as soon as she hangs up, she'll continue studying until eleven o' clock. Then it's shower time, get ready for bed, and firmly tell Ranka that no, she doesn't need to be tucked in, thank you, and good night, dad.

Fall nights are crisp and clear, and her second favorite time of day are the moments before falling asleep, when she lies in the dark and thinks about the future. Haruhi wonders if she'll clear her debt before she's graduated, and ponders briefly how her daily life would change, if she would no longer have to spend two hours or more afterschool with the host club. She might even have--god forbid--free time, all to herself.

Haruhi smiles and closes her eyes and almost laughs to herself. Kyouya-sempai is far too sneaky to let her go like that, and besides, families didn't just walk away when their debts were done: they crowded around the doors to the third music room everyday when it was time to go and cried, "See you tomorrow!"


End file.
